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Grey skies. cold. but all going on down town. the beggars and gypsies have come to town for the day.
Fair day.
Just like the old days. smugglers bringing wine and the gifts of the east.
through time it still persists. this urge to go out among the world and see.
I know some of the puritans dont like it but that is not important.
what matters is this primitive atavistic sense of community from which things flow.
and I can hear that lonesome whistle blow.
there is a steam locomotive down at the station running day passengers up and down the wairarapa line to masterton and back and every now and then when it blows the right way I hear the sound moaning in the wind.
Fair day.
Just like the old days. smugglers bringing wine and the gifts of the east.
through time it still persists. this urge to go out among the world and see.
I know some of the puritans dont like it but that is not important.
what matters is this primitive atavistic sense of community from which things flow.
and I can hear that lonesome whistle blow.
there is a steam locomotive down at the station running day passengers up and down the wairarapa line to masterton and back and every now and then when it blows the right way I hear the sound moaning in the wind.
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